One morning Monsieur Loisel, the notary, came in with a grave and solemn mien. "I have news for thee, Pani and Mam'selle, a great word of sorrow, and it grieves me to be the bearer of it. Yet the good Lord has a right to his own, for I cannot doubt but that Madame Bellestre's intercession has been of some avail. And Monsieur Bellestre was an upright, honorable, kindly man." "Monsieur Bellestre is dead," said Pani with the shock of a sudden revelation. Jeanne stood motionless. Then he could never come back! And, oh, what if Monsieur St. Armand never came back! "Yes. Heaven rest his soul, say I, and so does the good Father Rameau. For his gift to the Church seems an act of faith." "And Jeanne?" inquired the woman tremblingly. "It is about the child I have come to talk. Monsieur Bellestre has made some provision for her, queerly worded, too." "Oh, he does not take her away from me!" cried the foster mother in anguish. "No. He had some strange notions not in accord with the Church, we all know, that liberty to follow one's opinion is a good thing. It is not always so in worldly affairs even, but of late years it has come largely in vogue in religious matters. And here is the part of his will that pertains to her. You would not understand the preamble, so I will tell it in plain words. To you, Pani, is given the house and a sum of money each year. To the child is left a yearly portion until she is sixteen, then, if she becomes a Catholic and chooses the lot of a sister, it ceases. Otherwise it is continued until she is married, when she is given a sum for a dowry. And at your death your income reverts to the Bellestre estate." "Monsieur Bellestre did not want me to become a nun, then?" Jeanne asked the question gravely as a woman. "It seems not, Mam'selle. He thinks some one may come to claim you, but that is hardly probable after all these years;" and there was a dryness in the notary's tone. "You are to be educated, but I think the sisters know better what is needful for a girl. There are no restrictions, however. I am to see that the will is carried out, and the new court is to appoint what is called a guardian. The money is to be sent to me every six months. It surely is a great shame Mam'selle has no male relatives." "Shall we have to change, Monsieur?" asked Pani with a dread in her voice. "Oh, no; unless Mam'selle should--" he looked questioningly at the girl. "I shall never leave Pani." She came and stretching up clasped her arms about the woman's neck as she had in her babyhood. "And I like to go to school to the master." "M. Bellestre counts this way, that you were three years old when you came to Detroit. That was nine years ago. And that you are twelve now. So there are four years--" "It looks a long while, but the past does not seem so. Why, last winter is like the turn of your hand," and she turned hers over with a smile.